


"She'll be the shock..."

by aljohnson



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: AU, F/M, Illness, Longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aljohnson/pseuds/aljohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off a request in one of the comments to this Tumblr post: http://marlasinger.co.vu/post/74262014676/laura-the-girls-have-all-decided-is-looking</p>
<p>Immediately following Sister Bernadette's diagnosis, Patrick discovers something unexpected in her personal records....</p>
            </blockquote>





	"She'll be the shock..."

**Author's Note:**

> AU, just, completely AU, for reasons which will become apparent!
> 
> As previously, anything in Italics is from the actual programme as broadcast.
> 
> DISCLAIMER - NOT MINE - no money being made, no copyright infringement intended etc, all rights belong to either Estate of Jennifer Worth and/or Heidi Thomas, and/or Neal Street Productions.
> 
> Thank you for reading.

_“Crackles, on both sides. I’ve arranged an X-Ray for you in the morning. It might be more convenient if I drive you”_

_“Thank you Doctor”_

_“Oh you don’t need to do that”_

_“I’ll drive you”._

Sister Bernadette turned away from him, doing up the fastenings of her habit and blinking back the tears which were threatening to engulf her. She had gone from rapture to despair within minutes. Was this God’s punishment for their actions in the kitchen? She didn’t know, she couldn’t think straight right now, she just wanted to run and hide. “May I be excused? I would very much like to go to my room” she looked at Sister Julienne, hoping she would be allowed to leave.

“Before you do…” Doctor Turner broke in, he needed to ask permission before she left the room, his voice faded out. He just wanted to reach out and hug her to him, wrap her in his arms and comfort her, kiss her forehead and tell her that he was hopeful that they had found the TB before it had developed beyond the point of no return. Sister Bernadette for her part wanted to sob into his shoulder. But none of that was possible, and they found themselves on opposite sides of the room, neither of them quite able to look fully at the other, both of them desperate to declare themselves, but knowing that circumstance forbade it. “I wonder, are there any personal records I could look at – past history might help with the prognosis…”

“I have records” said Sister Julienne, “if Sister Bernadette is agreeable to you reviewing them?”

“Yes, of course. Anything which may help” said Bernadette, her voice wavering.

Julienne crossed to the filing cabinet, quickly picking over the numerous files until she found Sister Bernadette’s. She could see the younger woman wanted to leave and knew that the files weren’t hiding any grim dark secrets. She handed the file to Doctor Turner, smiling slightly as she did, “Come, Sister, let us leave Doctor to review matters”. She helped Bernadette from the room, and as she reached the exit, turned back towards Patrick, who was also trying not to allow tears to fall down his face, “I hardly need mention Doctor, that the contents of that file are confidential” whispered Julienne, quietly enough that Bernadette would not have heard her.

Doctor Turner nodded sagely. He leant against Sister Julienne’s desk, took a deep breath and flipped open the file. The first sheet comprised of notable dates – the date Sister Bernadette had come to Nonnatus House, the date of her first vows, the date she had taken her final, binding vows. The next sheet was details from Sister Bernadette’s pre-Nonnatus days. He swallowed as he read the entries, carefully curled handwriting, which he recognised as Sister Julienne’s, setting out Sister Bernadette’s date of birth, the date of her nursing exams and education, and, at the top, her real name: ‘Shelagh Mannion’.

He knew of course, that the nuns’ names were not the ones they had been born with, realised that it was one of the many things they had to give up when they entered the order, and, he realised now, that it was only in times of dire emergency that any reference to that past life was made.

“Shelagh” he exhaled her name. He liked the way it sounded on his lips, and he was momentarily distracted by the thought of whispering her name in her ear, whilst kissing her gently, listening to her moaning “Patrick” at him. He shook himself out of his daydream, aware that he had drifted considerably over the lines of both professionalism and gentlemanly conduct. He adjusted his tie. He flipped the sheets over, browsing briskly through Sister Bernadette’s pre-NHS health records.

He found a section at the back of the file containing a series of photographs. He paused – this felt like an intrusion, there would surely be nothing here of medical value. But he couldn’t stop himself. He looked at the door, it was closed, and he could only sense the silence that lay in the corridors beyond the room.

He extracted the small pile of pictures and started to review them. The first one was small, in black and white, a family group. It was plainly Shelagh with her family when she was much younger. There were some from her childhood, what appeared to be Birthday Parties mostly. One of her in what looked like a communion outfit. One from Nursing School, in her trainee Nurse’s uniform. He paused. Oh goodness, she was pretty. The uniform, for all its harsh utility made her look petite and vulnerable. He wanted to be able to reach into the past and talk to her as she was then, but he knew that it was a different time, and he had been a different person, married to his wife, who he still missed dearly, Timothy not even a twinkle in his eye as yet. He had drifted off again.

The last picture was in an envelope, and as it slipped from its protective cover, it was the back of the photograph facing him – an inscription in fading ink reading “Shelagh Mannion at Bart’s Christmas Party, 1946”. He slowly turned the picture over, “Bloody Hell!”. He had to lean on the desk more forcefully. She looked amazing – tall and elegant and wearing a very, very daring dress. If you could call it a dress. It was figure hugging, and high cut on the leg, and a panel over her, erm, ‘oh good grief’ he thought ‘how do they even make a dress like that?” The dress was not quite indecent, but it was a million miles away from the habit he had become used to seeing her wearing. Was it getting hot in here? He fiddled with his tie again, loosening the knot. There were twirly bits, and floaty bits and what looked like either feathers or flowers, he couldn’t be sure. And then he noticed her hair – oh the colour of it, the shine, the freedom. And her smile – looking straight at the camera, none of the shyness he associated with her, but a boldness and a determination of purpose.

He could hear footsteps coming towards the office now, and quickly pushed the picture back into its envelope, slipping the stack of pictures into their section of the file.

The door opened, and Sister Julienne smiled at him, “Any use?” she asked, nodding towards the file that he was tightly clutching.

“Erm, yes, absolutely. Very insightful” he smiled, trying to muster all the nonchalance he was utterly failing to feel. “I wonder, could I take this with me? The contents might be helpful tomorrow. I will return it just as soon as I am able…”

“Oh yes, of course, if you think it will help” replied Sister Julienne.

“I think it will help a great deal” murmured Patrick, as he slipped the file into his medical bag.

Sister Julienne couldn’t help noticing, when the file was returned late the following day, that the large envelope from the back of the file appeared to have been disturbed, but she thought little of it. For himself, Patrick prayed that Sister Julienne would never examine the envelope, for, if she did, she would find that the picture of Shelagh had been replaced with a copy of Sister Bernadette’s Chest X-Ray.

And one day some years later, Shelagh Turner would be utterly perplexed to discover a picture of herself at the age of twenty, carefully pressed into the back of one of Patrick’s medical textbooks. She would decide not to ask any questions, and put what she now realised was a surprisingly well-thumbed book, back on its shelf in the corner of his surgery….


End file.
